


Phantom Weight

by dyrimthespeaker



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9337469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyrimthespeaker/pseuds/dyrimthespeaker
Summary: Mickey liked sex. He always had. But after Svetlana, sometimes sex is a little complicated.





	

**Author's Note:**

> No sexual assault occurs in this fic, but it is all about ramifications of Mickey’s rape. Takes place in season 4 or season 5 or an alternate version of season 6, honestly I don’t know so take your pick.

Sex had always come to Mickey where intimacy wouldn’t. He understood sex. He knew what he liked, what felt good. His desires never eluded him and sexuality was easy to embrace. It was intimacy that tripped him up.

Despite that, he learned how to be intimate. Had taken steps towards expressing intimacy and learned the ways in which he enjoyed it. Discovered what he liked about kissing and cuddling and every other soft touch that was shared between people, but couldn’t be classified as overtly sexual.

He still loved hard rough fucking of course. Sometimes that was exactly what he wanted and no amount of soft touches would satisfy the craving. But he also knew he liked softer sex. Being held. Not pinned down, but truly held. Embraced. With slow thrusts and gentle exploratory kisses and fingers stroking softly at his hips.

But somehow, after so many years of thinking of sex as easy, sex got complicated. Not because of his broadening tastes or his newfound desires for intimacy, but because of his father. Because of Svetlana. Because of something that he hesitated to even name. Something he couldn’t quite comprehend in relation to himself, though he had a clear memory of it happening to him. To his body.

Most of the time he could compartmentalize. Disregard it. Sure it happened, Yevgeny was living proof it happened. He wasn’t unaware. He wasn’t in denial. It was okay though because it was over. It wouldn’t happen again. Ian was back and his father was gone. It was fine. No reason to waste his time thinking about it. Set it aside like everything else that hurts and move on. Be strong.

Sex was still good. He loved sex. He never stopped loving sex.

But sometimes. 

Sometimes when they’d be sitting on the couch and Ian would straddle him with a grin and start to roll his hips, intent on teasing him with a lapdance to get things started, sex wouldn’t come to his mind.

Instead there would be a phantom weight warring with Ian’s very real weight. An overwhelming feeling of fear, harsh and heavy enough to make Mickey feel like he might choke on it. And as Ian rocked in his lap his mind would conjure someone else there instead. Someone unwanted, unwelcome. 

When that happened Mickey had to fight to keep his eyes open. Focused. Look at Ian. Look at him. It’s Ian. It’s just Ian.

His heart would beat faster, easily taken to mean arousal. His hyperfocus on Ian reading as desire. And he wanted it that way. Wanted Ian to think he found the lapdance hot. Didn’t want to admit that lapdances on couches scared him. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t.

It was weak to be frightened of someone grinding down on your dick. Men aren’t scared when their partners grind on them. Men love it. Men want a partner who’ll give them a lapdance. And Mickey was a man. He was a man and men don’t get scared of sex.

So Mickey would utilize his strength to flip them. Push Ian down and pin him underneath himself. Focus, focus. He was on top now, no one could hold him down. And Ian loved it. Saw it as Mickey’s desire bubbling over. Mickey’s need taking precedence over his enjoyment of Ian’s teasing. Because he did enjoy it. What man wouldn’t enjoy it?

Then it was just a matter of mind over matter. Grinding down on Ian until his cock got the message and hardened to prove his desire. Show Ian that he was fine. Everything was fine. Sex was still easy and good all the time.

And if that didn’t work? If the phantom weight was now under him instead of over him and his quickening breath meant fear instead of arousal? If his adrenaline was pumping and every fiber of his being told him to run? Shut it down. Don’t think about it. Make it better. Force it to get better.

He’d move to straddle Ian instead. Shove his ass back against Ian’s hard cock. Relish in that feeling. A hard cock pressing against his ass was his. His own feeling. His own desire. The phantom weight didn’t have it. The phantom weight had no claim over that.

So he’d grind down again and again. Grind until Ian was moaning and grabbing his hips and thrusting up against him. Until all he could think about was how badly he wanted to get his pants off so he could get Ian inside him. Until the only weight was the press of his body against Ian’s.

Then he’d enjoy the sex. Ian would fuck him hard or slow or any combination of the two. They’d kiss and touch and fuck and Mickey would love it.

Because Mickey loved sex. Because there was nothing wrong with him. Sure, something fucked up had happened, but his entire life had been a series of fucked up things happening. And he was fine. 

Everyone gets depressed. Everyone sometimes feels fucked up. It happens. It’s fine. 

He was fine.


End file.
